We said goodbye once more inhibiting specificity as certain levels of significance tend to bring too much complexity we both know it
well
with the 4 years of back and forth like the seasons we
were shifting but always coming back to the same place every time you left I believed we would never meet
again but this choice is not just for us to make
There was some more remarks to make
Apparently
And the particularity of your humour was supposed to
make me hold on to my smile again
even long after
leaving
I thought today was going
to be filled with reflection and
memories but it was a little
more for both of us and even though
now
you're supposed to go home
This time
with someone new in your life
The goodbye we've said feels very similar
to those from the past perhaps
this familiarity will bring something
good to us
Sometime
those pictures
he wonders, are always so greasy
particularity from that genre
those poses
the citizens give, make it worse
all seemed very ridiculous
It is not called bagatelle
But can be one!
An instant caress of her curlicue
Popping the bottle with a corkscrew
Objet d'art and its vestige
Touch then smell - the prestige.
Wink and smile
Murmur, as braid gets pulled
The neck is summoned
As a hilltop to be conquered or climbed
But not as an ornament
To be visually admired
(Only)
Oh, lonely,... lonely
It is exposed
To devour, to feed upon,
Or share passion
With particularity called aphrodisia
Prurience with lucent aspiration
Tune-in all the keys, and hammers and strings
As if it is touched by seraph's wings
Then gently handbound,
Perfected, to make a sound
Soft and gentle
Melodic and infective
Pleasing and, indeed, very effective.
What card have you been dealt?
Do not look!
Have you felt the melt?
My life isn't exactly what I'd have wished for,
had I roused myself to wish.
I might have lived a life filled full,
puffed with particularity, and limited:
boundaried by Plymouths, VA loans, and bills from Dr. Bill.
I might then have shaped my mind to fit a space,
quite small, where largest loomed my daily cares.
I should then have been content
to hear the patter of small feet
upon cement of terrace, porch,
basement or garage, and to emit,
upon request, a well-designed barrage
of timely chatter, to complement the patter,
to pace the ticking of the clock.
But no...I cannot to such rhythms and designs
become resigned... must play the nomad
(and the bard) till play and I be ended,
low or high, and must try to know,
and yet not know, the great vague
How, the What, the Why...